


Satisfying Conclusion

by theskywasblue



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:05:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all doesn't have to be well to end well</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfying Conclusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whymycal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=whymycal).



Despite what Holmes feels is a wholly unsatisfying conclusion to the case - not through any failure of his as an investigator; he can only promise to provide his clients with the truth, he cannot promise that they will like it - he and Watson find themselves in a well-appointed private car on the night train back to London, all expenses paid, having dined upon a very fine meal of roast fowl and new potatoes. Watson is already busy documenting the particulars of the past five days on paper, seated on one of the two berths which face one another across the small aisle, leaning into the lamplight, his brow tight in concentration.

Over the course of many years, Holmes has learned that dedicating more than a telegram to paper is pointless at best, self-incriminating at worst; yet he allows Watson to record every moment of each and every one of the cases they investigate together - and several of the more colourful ones from Holmes' independent past - to paper in painstaking detail. Watson is a man far more meticulous than Holmes himself and more in need of this physical manifestation of memory; and so the action comforts him.

If he were more given to analyzing his own actions, rather than the actions of others, Holmes would also admit there are two self-serving factors which feed into his willingness to have Watson record their adventures on paper. The first is that he knows Watson to be a man of not unimpressive skill in the art of rendering a story, and he knows that when the day comes that Watson chooses to pass these carefully maintained missives on to a publisher, they will attract a readership far more varied than doe-eyed housewives looking to while away the hours between tea time and supper. At present, Holmes thrives on his relative anonymity, on the fact that in spite of his infamy he is unlikely to be recognized on a crowded London street. However Watson’s meticulous records will ensure that the _name_ Sherlock Holmes cannot be forgotten, long after the man himself is consigned to the grave and hereafter by bullet, blade or excess of opiate.

The second reason is that Watson's records, thorough as they are, will ingrain Sherlock Holmes forever in the doctor’s mind. Really it is very simple. Holmes has never thought himself to be an intensely possessive man - _obsessive_ perhaps, but that is another spectrum of mental peculiarity entirely - however sometime over the course of their friendship, Watson has been branded uniquely with the words "Property of Sherlock Holmes, remove upon penalty of death".

It remains to be seen whether Watson is entirely aware of this, however considering his intellect is remarkably sharp - though not as sharp as Holmes' own, to be sure - it is very likely he at least has an inkling.

What he intends to do about it is another question.

What Holmes intends to do is nothing terribly surprising to anyone who has spent more than five minutes in his company - to covet Watson entirely, immerse himself in the whole of the man as he does with every other object of his attention, until such time as it fails to capture his interest any longer.

Considering the number of years they have been companions, Holmes feels that a lack of interest in Watson is a thing likely to occur at such a far point in the future as to be entirely insignificant.

The sleeper car sways, the lantern casting strange, smoky shadows. Holmes partakes silently of his pipe, knowing that Watson prefers peace for such tasks as this, although the first skitterings of boredom can be heard in the back of Holmes’ mind. The exhilaration of having solved the case - regardless of the outcome - is beginning to wane somewhat, and he wants - with the self-occupation of any great genius - further mental stimulation.

Although physical stimulation, he feels, would suffice.

Therein lies the point at which his relationship with Watson is more or less complicated by circumstance.

Holmes does not by any means consider himself an invert - at least, not after the fashion of the doll-faced boys easily enough found on some of London's darker streets. However, he feels that he has given women - or at least _a_ woman – due consideration in his life, and has found them largely unremarkable. John Watson, on the other hand, is very much remarkable, and therefore wholly desirable.

“Holmes...” Watson looks up from his work, just a tilt of the chin really, watching Holmes from beneath a finely sculpted brow still knit slightly in concentration. Holmes wonders if the look is meant to be deliberately enticing, or if it is only a happy side-effect of Watson’s good looks.

“Yes Watson?” A tip of the head, a careful smile meant convey the utmost innocence.

“If you continue to stare at me like that, I think it very likely that I could end up with a hole drilled in my skull.”

“That would be most unfortunate my friend, as I believe trepanation to be wholly out of style this season.”

“Indeed.” Watson’s careful, steady hands close his notebook and set it aside on the berth, next to his hat and walking stick. He runs a finger along his eyebrow, lets it settle on his temple - a gesture of thoughtful exasperation mingled with pain. Eye strain from the low light, Holmes thinks, and surely a doctor should know better. Holmes explores the pockets of his discarded jacket with nimble fingers and produces a silver flask, unadorned, and shakes it curiously against his ear. It appears to be about half full.

"The conclusion of the case calls for a drink, wouldn't you say?"

"Where did you get that?" Watson responds, suspicious.

Holmes shrugs, giving Watson a smile meant to speak of the world and its mysterious movements - not willing to admit it was surreptitiously pick pocketed from one of the less reputable men they had encountered earlier that day. His unwillingness to answer doesn't dissuade Watson from taking a hearty sip, followed promptly by a grimace.

"It's awful Holmes. Sewage water."

Holmes rather thinks it’s whiskey, though terrible and of incredibly high proof. They pass it back and forth, fingers occasionally touching, until it is empty and resigned to the uncharted depths of Holmes' pockets once more. By this time, Watson's cheeks have acquired a most endearing flush and there is a more than promising look in his eye.

Holmes unfastens his shirt collar; Watson rises - not unsteadily - and draws the privacy shades. Though Holmes himself has an exhibitionist streak wider than the Thames, the activities they are about to engage in are something they would both rather keep private. A noose, after all, is not a particularly becoming fashion accessory.

The rocking of a train provides wonderful accompaniment to carnal pleasure. Holmes files this away for later contemplation and focuses his considerable attention solely on Watson – who accepts nothing less. His lips and tongue make the whiskey far more palatable in any case.

“I don’t suppose every case could end this way,” Watson says afterwards, wearing only his trousers and his bowler hat as he searches the collective tangle of their clothes for his pipe.

Holmes, lounging on the berth and just considering the possibility of perhaps putting his trousers back on, admires the lines of Watson’s back and finds that he has nothing to say on the matter for once.

The answer, after all, is elementary.

-End-


End file.
